


There is one I have followed.

by TricksterBusiness



Category: The Hobbit
Genre: Angst, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TricksterBusiness/pseuds/TricksterBusiness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin reflects on his friendship with his king, Thorin Oakenshield.<br/>[Angst, major, major angst in this one shot.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is one I have followed.

"Thorin, my lord, we may not make it out of this alive."

The silence was cut with an uncomfortable feeling. Dwarves were marching to their old kingdom. Thousands of them, they knew they were walking straight into a battle with Orcs.

"I know." The prince replied in a quiet tone. He stared ahead as he marched, his eyes set on the horizon.

"If we don't," Dwalin continued, "then I'd like to say, it has been an honour serving with you. You have always been a king to me. Crown upon your head or not."

Thorins lips pulled into a tight line. He turned to look at Dwalin, his brow furrowed. "If we are to leave this world, I do not wish to leave it as if you're a subject of mine."

"A subject?" Dwalin chuckled. "I wouldn't put it like that-"

"If we're to part ways, we part ways as brothers."

Dwalin's eyes widened as he looked to Thorin, shocked. "Brothers?"

"You heard me." Thorin said with a soft chuckle. "You are my friend, Dwalin. One of my closest. I want you to know what your worth is to me."

Dwalin cracked a wide grin. He nodded, putting his hand on Thorin's shoulder. "It would be an honour, /brother/."

Thorin laughed quietly and put his hand on Dwalin's shoulder as well. He squeezed him in reassurance. But the battle was fast approaching. They put their hands back on their weapons, and continued to march towards the Orc scum that were ready to fight for Azanulbizar.

-

Everyone had returned to bed when Dwalin snuck out of his room in the great kingdom or Erebor. Though a large, clunking dwarf at his finest, he could also pull of going stealth. He crept around the kingdom, until he found his destination. And when he walked in, it was as if he had swallowed a hammer.

The tomb was magnificent, as it would be for any king. The cold, black stone encased the King and his heirs in three large tombs. All adorned with decorations and gifts from those that remained from the horrific battle that took forth, right before their very door step. Runes were painted in gold along the side of their graves. Their names, their birth dates, their dates of death, and prayers to pass on with ease to the afterlife, to join their fathers before them.

Dwalin's breathing shook. He had not cried at the burial, not properly. A tear fell down his cheek and into his beard at the funeral. But now, he cried. His shoulders shook, small, pitiful noises escaped his throat. Nothing like the battle cries that came from the same dwarf, nothing like the proud tone he used when speaking these braves men's names that laid before him, surrounded in stone.

He moved to the centre tomb. His best friend lay there. His fellow soldier, and his king. He put a hand on the stone, almost imagining like he could put his hand on Thorin's shoulder once more. Assure him that he was not a failure, or share one more joke at the Elves' expense. He took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

The dwarf he had grown up with, fought with, and served was no more than a memory, and a terrible weight on Dwalin's heart.

"It was an honour to serve with you, my brother."


End file.
